Havana invites you to dance, spins you around the dance floor until you are dizzy and out of breath, and beg to be released. But the moment you catch your breath, you are ready to go again. The city is hemmed by a picturesque five kilometre cornice, the malecón, where much of its social life is conducted. Families promenade, lovers canoodle and young people mingle while friends absently pluck at the strings of a tres. Below, among the rocks, anglers fish and children bathe in rocky pools etched out by years of wave action on the bedrock that is the foundation of this enduring city.

Across the bay is the testament to the city’s staying power. Dominating the narrow entrance to the harbour is the El Morres, a grand 16th century fortification that bespeaks the injustices of the Taino exploitation, the struggles of the Spanish against the aspirations of other European colonists, the glinting eyes of buccaneers and pirates, and the more recent histories of emancipation, independence and revolution. The sunset over this symbol of Caribbean history is remarkable, not only because of its intrinsic beauty, but also because it is a witness to such rich and varied stories. And in a way, Cuba is the sum of its stories, finding its most poignant articulation in the art, poetry, music and dance of the place.

Poet and national hero José Martí, is venerated both for the lyricism of his expression and for the force of his convictions. Not content to write about the injustices of imperialism, he became a national hero, marshalling the forces of Maceo and others and engaging imperial forces in the battle for independence. But Martí is not the only personality who looms large over the city. Facing the statue of Martí in the Plaza de la Revolucion is a wrought-iron mural of Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevera, Pan-American revolutionary, born in Argentina and stalwart of the Cuban revolution until his death in Bolivia in 1967. Che, as he is familiarly referred to, is a feature of the landscape in Cuba. The ideals he espoused have gripped the imagination of the Cuban people, and Castro, forgive the pun, has capitalized on this. He is a recurring motif in Cuban art and street slang—songs extol his virtues and placards and murals depict his image, exhorting citizens to play their part; to continue the struggle.

And for Cubans, life is a struggle. Admittedly, no one goes hungry and education and healthcare are universal. But the average Cuban will tell you they expect more from life. Clothing is expensive, food beyond the very basic rations difficult to come by and even intra-national travel rare. This fact has made the Cuban people among the most resourceful in the world. With the right tools and the right attitude, everything can be fixed or recycled and that is most clearly evident in transportation. In other tourist destinations where horse-drawn carts are a quaint recollection of times past, in Cuba, they are a fully functional, not to mention, fuel efficient mode of transportation. So it is not uncommon when you leave the city centre to find such carts ambling along major thoroughfares, laden with passengers and their cargo, alongside chugging cars, and train cars drawn by truck cabs.

Cuba conjures images of cigars and sugar cane, but perhaps its most influential export in recent times has been its music. A recent Wes Anderson documentary exploring the lives and talents of institutions such as Eliades Ochoa, Ibrahim Ferrer and Ruben Gonzalez, hit box offices around the world in 1999, followed up by a series of recordings, most notably the Buena Vista Social Club, giving listeners a treat as traditional music got a boost, immortalised by the raw cane sugar gravely voice of Compay Segundo and the chocolate-coated crooning of Omara Portuondo. With a musical patrimony such as this, it is easy to understand how percussive rhythms really are the heart and soul of the country. Cubans experience a lot of hardship, making sacrifices for ‘la revolución’, exacerbated by embargoes and such. Much needed relief comes in a medicine that heeds no boundaries—music. And so it is that from sunrise well into the night music plays, bursting out of tiny Ladas and re-conditioned Chevies, erupting from tenement housing, seeping out of back alleys. Newly out of Cuba are the sounds of Orishas, Daddy Yankee, Los Van Van.

By day, there is no end of sights to see. The Prado and the Malecón are nerve centres of the city, for commuting, socializing and small-scale commerce. For the visitor, they are galleries of Cuban life. The stamp of Spain’s colonial influence is nowhere more evident than in Havana Vieja, where wide open terraces are flanked by grand stone facades reminiscent of Madrid. Some of the city’s most interesting museums, galleries and casa natales (birth places of notable Cubans) are to be found in this pedestrian-friendly part of the city. Whether or not you are in the market for Cuban art and souvenirs, a trip down to the feria artesania cannot be missed for bold strokes of colour on canvas, and for some interesting ideas on what can be done with old soft drink cans, car tyres and banana leaves.

If you are travelling solo, no worries. You won’t be alone for long. The destination is frequented by those going it alone, perhaps because it is one of the safest places to stumble along and get lost in. And inevitably you will be meeting up with others eager to sample the city’s renowned nightlife, sipping mojitos and dancing the night away to son and boleros, salsa, and if your ear is more inclined, to the Afro-Latin pulsations of reggueton. Cuba, whether visited solo or with a group of friends, is the ideal Caribbean get-away. There is enough here that is familiar to the West Indian to make it accessible, yet foreign enough for it to seem like a world away.